Excalibur

Remaining tempted to crack vulgar wise  
at my sixty years of sophomoric age  
tempers routine existence with surprise  
at wit in modicum upon a page,  
stuck in adolescent irreverence  
half cast in the whirlwind patina  
of mortality in disseverance...  
like Bosnia and Herzegovina,  
or better yet, a classical decay,  
like marbled Mediterranean blocks  
longing for former glory in the day  
when youth withstood multivariate shocks  
reminisced in a Roman alphabet...  
as it's the doom of men...when they forget.